The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com
Wednesday, March 19, 2014 -- 5A
Pretty, gritty rock
PAIGE PFLEGER
"Detroit is more than a shell of it's former glory."
I 've written about
Detroit many times, from
many different angles. I've
tried to sell it to you, to give you
a to-do list that you might try to
tackle. I've
highlighted
things I see as
being worth-
while and
hoped that
you'd have
the initiative
to follow up PAIGE
on them. I've PFLEGER
tried to give
you hope for
a future or
shatter your preconceived notions,
but more than anything, I've tried
to make you listen, and I don't
think you have been.
Detroit is more than downtrod-
den, cracking and decaying. It is
more than graffiti-stained con-
crete and windowless buildings
and ruin porn. Its name doesn't
deserve a follow-up modifier sug-
gested by Google like "slums" or
"abandoned." Photos of the rotting
Michigan Central Station have
become emblematic of this ver-
sion of Detroit - it's windowless,
it whistles in the wind like a child
with gaps between his teeth. Its
decrepitness dominates the imag-
es that have become its definition.
Detroit is more than a shell of its
former glory. It is not dead.
I consider myself a Detroiter.
Even though I only spent a few
years of my life living inside the
city itself, it's in my bones, and at
the very least I had inherited the
title. My grandmother was from
the Detroit bourgeois of the '20s,
growingup in a large house in Bos-
ton Edison, and my grandfather
close by in Highland Park. The two
met and moved to the suburbs to
begin their family - their youngest
child became the woman I know to
be my mother. She became a paint-
er at College for Creative Stud-
ies downtown. Her friends had
multi-colored, mohawks and they
frequented dive bars for pitch-
ers of beer and burgers on school
nights. I've heard stories of these
people, of the drugs they did and
the art they created in the shadows
of these skyscrapers. One man, a
painter, woke up from a bad trip
and realized he had painted the
backsc
ing his
across
tures of
I gre
Belle I
minum
around
tending
to the
Detroit
sunligh
water.'
had etc
was th
childhc
moved
city, as
and eve
center(
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D
5IC
took m
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mother
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over a r
life.
52 w
drink i
the bar
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stantly
and ne
ink-sta
let met
53
night
to the
firewor
Years,a
to part
of onc
backdr
drugs a
54 v
drove t
the nig
some sc
nightv
ous we
plowed
er und
tening
emotio
of the cockroaches infest- over like the ground outside, emo-
apartment. Each scuttled tions that couldn't be de-thawed
the floor wearing minia- merely by the friction of each oth-
fVan Gogh, Picasso, Dali. er's bodies.
w up crossing the bridge to 55 was the exit I took after leav-
sle to slide down wide alu- ingmy virginity behind on a multi-
slides and run in circles colored couch covered in dog hair
the botanical garden pre- while heat crackled in a wood-
g I had been transported burning fireplace that we had
rainforest. I swam in the cleaned dead birds outofinthefall.
River and swallowed the We held our breath as we fumbled
t that reflected off the with each other's belts and bodies
The city skyline that I've in order not to wake his mother. It
ched in ink across my ribs was innocence, a kind of simplicity
e constant backdrop of my that would be lost in dorm room
rod. When I grew up and beds or parking garages or against
to the suburbs, I visited the walls at frat parties.
signing a memory to each Each memory compiles itself
ery exit along I-75 from the into a patchwork of images that
of the city branching out to build up my identity and solidify
se. my feelings for the city. As a Uni-
versity of Michigan student I've
been ashamed of the words that
)etroit isn't we feel are appropriate when we
speak of the quiet giant just 45
dead minutes down the road. "Save
Detroit" or "Help Detroit." The
city doesn't need your savior
complex. It is filled with myriad
was where my boyfriend humans that have more spirit and
e to the top of a hill for his drive and fight in them than most
e view of the city. It was the of us here in Ann Arbor have ever
rf the last steps my grand- had to exert.
r took before she dropped I don't know how to convince
yes glazing over looking out you of its importance, but I am
river she had known all her enraged by the idea that if we
lived this close to Chicago or New
vas the number of sips of a York City we would explore those
t took for me to end up in cities every weekend, or even on
ckseat of a car with a girl the weeknights. We would pho-
& in tattoos - I was con- tograph, write, paint, discuss, see
stuck between hating her and maybe one day even under-
eding her, and I kissed each stand the city. We would be less
inedscaruntil she cried and obsessed with the idea of fixing
under her skin. and more enchanted by the idea
was the temperature the of cultivating. We wouldn't try to
we wandered the streets change it; we would try to enhance
sounds of gun shots and it, notsave the city, but support it.
rks. It was midnight, New I'm not a Detroit expert. Far
and we stumbled from party from it. I have a column and I call
y with the decaying corpses myself a Detroit Arts Columnist,
e great buildings, ignored and I'll bring you bi-weekly snap-
ops, blurred by alcohol and shots of someone or something
nd teenage naivety, existing within the city's borders.
was the number of times I But I know well enough as a stu-
o his house in the middle of dent that I still have so much to
;ht in a snowstorm to seek learn from this city, and too few
olace in his arms. I spent the people share this yearning for
with excuses about danger- knowledge with me.
ather conditions and poorly I can't make you care. I can only
I roads, and we slept togeth- hope that you'll listen.
By AMRUTHA SIVAKUMAR
Daily Arts Writer
Maybe there's another reason
beside the nudity to stick around,
after all.
When The
Pretty Reckless
aired its debut
single, "Make Going
Me Want to to Hell
Die," in 2010, it
told a caution- The Pretty
ary tale on the Reckless
repercussions of
a good girl gone Razor & Tie
bad. The record
was discussed more for lead singer
Taylor Momsen's thick make-up
and profuse nudity than for its
music, and by the end of its tour, it
was uncertain whether The Pretty
Reckless would survive beyond the
paling of Momsen's teenage rebel-
lion.
Freshly pressed and ready
to impact, Going to Hell paints a
vastly different picture. The Pretty
Reckless diversifies its sound in
its sophomore album, exhibiting
everything from unfurling rage
to grim melancholy, and through
the process, validating Momsen as
someone who is in the industry to
stay. While the album art flaunts
Momsen's nudity, the record is
less about sex than it is about pure
human emotion.
Though only two albums deep
into her career, Momsen has the
face of someone who has been
fronting a band her entire life. Her
sound airs confidence, unfalter-
ing from its intention to scar ste-
reotypes surrounding women in
rock, and her songs seem the result
of years worth of anger boiling up
inside, finally let to be released.
While Momsen's sophomore
record follows the same formula as
her debut, it goes on to artistically
innovate, bringing out the vitality
in Momsen's vocals and the versa-
tility in alternative rock as a whole.
While Momsen can inarguably
outshout two guitars and a drum-
RAZOR& TIE
"I don't even need speed."
roll, her vocalssurpass expectation riffs constantly jar with one anoth-
when backed by an acoustic guitar er and Momsen's vocals are any-
on "House on a Hill" and estab- thing but pleasant, reminding one
lish her as someone who can write of a painful, slow and ugly muta-
music thatctells a story deeper than tion. As the tracks progress, it's evi-
one of self-indulgent anger. On dent that there is a certain order in
"Burn" and "Waiting for a Friend," each track's disorder.
Momsen allows herself to be vul- Don't tell me that you expected
nerable, bringing out the sadness anything different from Momsen,
in her anger through the doses of though. It has been way too long
folk in her voice. since she shed the last reminis-
cence of her character of Cindy Lou
Who from "How the Grinch Stole
'Going to H Christmas" and little, sweet Jenny
Humphrey from "Gossip Girl" to
sounds like become your mother's worst night-
mare.
Heaven At the same time, this is a bet-
ter Momsen than what we've seen
over the last half-decade. She has
come back from her debut strong,
At the same time, The Pretty showing that under all that thick,
Reckless conquers with its low black eye shadow and nudity,
bass guitar riffs and slow drum- there's an unfounded determin-
rolls. "Heaven Knows," the album's ism to create a memorable alterna-
lead single, is thematically dark but tive album. Rather than releasing
musically entertaining. The range yet another record of ear-scathing
of emotions on "Sweet Things" wails, The Pretty Reckless per-
proves the record to be chaotic fectly and meticulously balance
yet carefully calculated. The band the softer tones of an acoustic gui-
draws more on punk on "Fucked tar and Momsen's falsetto with
up World" to create a perky chant unadulterated rock 'n' roll, with
that sums up the album's overlying tracks reflecting today's alterna-
theme of distress. tive rock trends while seamlessly
If rock 'n' roll still had any main- throwing back to the time of The
stream value, The Pretty Reckless Runaways.
would have caught a storm by now. At the end of the day, even if The
But on Going to Hell, there are way Pretty Reckless does end up being
too many tracks about hell and evil another one of Momsen's phases, at
for it to top the charts. The guitar leastshe pulls it off well.
er twinkle lights while lis-
to vinyl records, in search of
ns that had already frozen
Pfleger just wants youto listen. To
help out, e-mail pspfleg&oumich.edu
'Rainbow' reinforces weirdness
By HANNAH WEINER
DailyArts Writer
You'd expect that, after 15
years of wild shows earning
them an even wilder reputation,
the Black Lips
would have k
something pro-
found - or sim- Underneath
ply mature-to the
say about their
newest album, Rainbow
Underneath The Black Lips
the Rainbow.
You'd expect VICE
that after six
albums, the
seventh might blatantly dif-
ferentiate itself, begging either
criticism or intrigue. You'd
expect that, using an album title
referencing "Over the Rainbow,"
maybe there'd be a witty Wizard
of Oz allusion weaved deftly in
the lyrics.
Maybe you'd expect these
things, being a rational human
being and all. But then again, your
expectations probably hit a fork in
the road after last month when the
Black Lips' bassist, Jared Swilley,
told NME that the album sounds
like "The Fonz fucking a monkey
while riding a motorcycle into the
sun."
Whatever that means.
The Black Lips, an Atlanta
group reeking of chaotic garage
rock, h
the ma
relevant
to prod
(Mark I
for Arab
rick Car
Undern
the hea
exudes
its musi
in soun
oxymor
garage
an amat
ave presumably made all ers from Atlanta who fall under
ture choices by choosing a very specific subculture and
t, successful musicians subgenre, and Underneath the
uce their last two albums Rainbow proves itself to be catchy,
Ronson and Lockett Pundt 1950s-60s fueled, quintessential
bia Mountain and now, Pat- garage rock. It's not a masterpiece
rney of The Black Keys for - it's not even reminiscent of one.
eath theRainbow). But, alas: But it stays true to its genre, fall-
rt and soul of garage rock ing neatly within the constraints
through the filthy pores of of "garage rock" while 'offering
cians. Despite a refinement subtle changes: Carney's elec-
cd and a nod toward the tronic buzz in "Funny" and the
onic nature of commercial 1950s rock 'n' roll swing in "Drive
rock, the album maintains By Buddy."
eur edginess. The songs retain a musty fil-
ter and slur over the guitars and
vocals, but the standout track
on the LP, "Boys In the Wood,"
w acky but shows that the Black Lips have
w orkable. attempted to soften the edges
- at least, sonically. The song
features bluesy riffs indica-
tive of their Southern roots and
vhat it's worth, Swilley may Carney's The Black Keys, but the
een somewhat accurate. lyrics hint towards the "monkey-
eath the Rainbow is a frag- fucking" that Swilley mentioned
, half-baked muddle of dis- earlier: "My eyes start to bleeding
uitars and half-whispered / From the Southern smoke / And
ocals. The songs are held ain't nobody leaving / Cause the
r only by a vague notion of shards will split your throat." The
Days-era rockabilly twang, sinister, dark and twisted lyrics
atchy choruses and Car- carry through the entirety of the
ectro-influence. album: Under the Rainbow is an
wouldn't you expect that understatement for how far from
garage rock band with cheery this album truly seems.
coursing through their The Black Lips have, once
again, proved their weirdness
range your expectations: and, once again, made an album
rem with the garage rock- that is nothing but "them."
For w
have b
Underm
mented
torted g
punk v
togethe
Happy I
some c,
ney's el
But,
from a
angst
veins?
Rear
align th
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